


Two Kings

by SoleilVioleta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Post-Scratch, Second Person, Two Kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 12:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleilVioleta/pseuds/SoleilVioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Scratch, John and Dave don't know eachother until they meet in a small bar in a small town. Jade and Rose will make appearances later in the work.</p><p>Plot written before Post-Scratch Homestuck updates, so age gap or lack there of may not be canonical. PoV both Dave and John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Homestuck](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5905) by Andrew Hussie. 



[D.] You’re not quite sure how you got here. You know how you got to the bar. You walked quickly through the dry, cold night from your hovel to the only bar in this small town. The town itself is almost a ghost, but you have a creeping suspicion that you’d feel as lonely in a place teeming with people. You know how you got to this town, technically. On your stubborn way from Texas to California you ran out of money to travel and you just sort of ended up living in the house of this old lady, doing the chores and running errands to justify your stay. And since then your nightly reassurances to yourself that you’d get yourself moving again have faded away. And now you feel restless, because somewhere inside you lay the embers of a great fire. When the fire stopped roaring, the guilt started growing, so you’ve ended up shoving all of those thoughts of fame in L.A. away, and you’re not entirely sure that you’re living, so much as existing. You’re not quite sure, not quite sure at all, how you got here.

-

[J.] You’re having the time of your life. Sort of. You’ve pretty much been going where the wind has been blowing for about a year now, and it’s a lot of fun! You’ve broadened your horizons so much, met so many new people, and experienced all the cool places! You’ve got what others would describe as a gnawing wanderlust, and you’re pretty certain that anyone who’s known you for the last few months thinks you’ll never sate the need to move. You know differently, however, because you only keep moving due to the fact that you feel just a little empty everywhere; there’s something inside of you looking for a place to be and it knows what place that is. For what reason, you can’t guess, because you’ve proven to yourself that any place is as good as the next.

-

 

[D.] You’ll take a solid beer like any other sensible guy most nights. But tonight you feel odd, as if something important is imminent. So, to settle your nerves and abate the feeling of upheaval, you’ve ordered a damn good scotch. You’re cherishing how smooth your money feels in the form of this expensive liquor, and contemplating how it’s even possible that something so light in your hand can feel so heavy inside of you, when you’re interrupted by a body sliding onto the stool located to your immediate left.

You’ve made a point to be polite and charismatic in this town, but you’ve also made a point to be aloof. This means you’ve broken a few hearts already, but more importantly, this means that no one bothers you at the bar. A safe distance is always kept out of respect, so this must be a stranger.

“Hi.” You hear this stranger greet the bartender. There’s a melody in his voice that reminds you of lively piano, “Do you have Blue Moon?”

A light beer, with an orange flavor. Sometimes served with an orange garnish, just to be showy. Somewhat frivolous, in your opinion. The bartender answers no. he doesn’t carry fancy shit and you know that. He has alcohol to drown sorrows or for the sake of drinking, and he has alcohols for special occasions or whatever caused you to order this expense; but no golden fruity beers for city-loving high-end sophisticated lightweight strangers.

“Ok,” the stranger replies. Apparently undeterred because he sounds nearly chipper, “I love the opportunity to try new things. I’ll take the house specialty!” The bartender nods and hands him a mug of the shittiest beer he has, “Thanks.” The stranger says, and you can hear him sipping lightly in an obnoxious manner.

This finally causes you to look over, and even through your shades they’re striking. His eyes. They bowl you over and run right through you. They’re the trust most brilliant blue and you’re absolutely sure that you’ll never see any eyes as beautiful. Your breath catches just a little, and you feel a rumbling that sets you on edge. Something about this stranger has shaken your foundation, and the heat inside of you is the kind that will consume your being if you don’t put it out. This isn’t a normal sort of flame, but the flame that you had decided you’d never allow to kindle itself back up. Don’t let things boil over, you tell yourself, you’ve built a damn good wall and you better be able to keep this crazy shit happening to you for no good reason under fucking control. But all those things come back to you, all those things you used to want, and you suddenly don’t know why you ever tried to stop dreaming your dreams. Your head doesn’t spin. You’re not swimming in your thoughts; you’re drowning in them.

He blinks at you and smiles genuinely. You realize that while you’ve been looking at him, he’s been looking right back.

“You’re not from here.” You state. It comes out much harsher than you meant it to. What’s going on with you tonight?

His smile stiffens just a little bit, but his eyes still appear friendly, “No, I’m not. I didn’t think you were either.” Something about his voice directed at you makes you feel everything at once, and the end result is you taking grave offense to his offhanded remark.

You blurt out a grunt that sounds something like “Huh?” You’re storming inside and you can’t make any sense of it.

“Oh, uh, I just didn’t think people out here dressed like you! Stupid stereotype for me to buy into, right? Haha!” He nervously laughs, putting his mug down and running a hand through his hair. You’d guess it’s a tick, but you’re more concerned with what he’s saying.

You stand quickly, “Something wrong with the way I dress?” he remains seated, and now his smile is manic, desperate to please you and avoid conflict. His eyes run about frantically. He probably thinks you’re drunk. Hell, if you hadn’t known that you haven’t even finished your first drink, you’d think you were drunk too.

“No, no! Not at all! I actually like your style, no joke!” He fumbles with his words. You grab his t-shirt and pull him just a little across the stool, leaning in close. You don’t know why you’re being menacing, and you’re telling yourself to stop, but you can’t stop these feelings inside and they’re driving you crazy. This stranger is driving you crazy, “Look, I’m sorry! Man, please!” he pleads.

The word please stops you cold and he can feel it. He freezes like small prey, shivering slightly, but playing dead. You let his shirt go and step back, “Hm.” From you, this sounds sagely, “Sorry bro. it’s all chill.” You sit back down. You punch yourself mentally for losing control without a discernable reason; for harassing a well-meaning stranger.

“It-it’s ok.” He turns back to his beer. You’re so flustered that you down the rest of your scotch. You motion to the bartender for two more and when he gives them to you, you slide one to the stranger. “Uh…thanks…” he says.

“Bartender’s best. No problem bro.” You shrug.

“Bro.” he repeats, and you can tell that he’s tasting the word rather than the drink. He sounds almost happy and you snort, a sort of substitute you’ve decided works for a chuckle. He smiles slightly, and the thought strikes you that you can’t think of anyone you’ve almost beat up that’s smiled at you immediately after. That soft smile trips you and without any warning you fall back into that moment when you were very close to him. You didn’t take special note then, but you do now. You felt his breath for just a second. He smelled fresh and vaguely minty, somehow sweet without being sugary; you replay “please” and his lips are dancing the word into creation, playing with the air between the two of you. You get a little lost in it and when you realize this you can feel yourself blush. You regret this because your ears turn a very visible red.

-

[J.] You’re pretty confused. You follow whims most all the time, but this was more than a whim. This was an adamant tug from your heart of hearts, and you had no choice in the matters of coming to this town or entering this bar or sitting next to this stranger.

You were pretty excited at first because sitting on the barstool felt so right, but that excitement quickly turned to fear when the stranger you sat down next to almost pulverized you. He then proceeded to back off and buy you what was apparently the best drink in the bar and call you bro. You suppose the house specialty should be different from the best they have to offer, but the thought hadn’t previously occurred to you. You’re not really an expert on bars.

Normally you’d be plum pleased and just tickled to be called ‘bro’; which you’d always considered to be both the silliest and the most sincere term. But you feel flighty enough that these feelings only bubble out as a small smile rather than a laugh.

You swish the scotch carefully and bring it to your mouth, examining your newest ‘bro’ carefully. It’s hard to see without your glasses (currently located in your backpack, which you hung by the door), but you get a sly eyeful nonetheless. He’s got a slim figure, but the way he hunches over his drink pulls his shirt just enough to hint at some muscle. His blonde hair brushes his sunglasses and you briefly wonder why he’s wearing them. You don’t think he looks like the kind of guy who flies off the handle.

The entire bar is plain, but it seems to suit him well. The low lighting is almost gold, and the deep wood compliments the colors of the brown, amber, and reddish drinks scattered around the room. Something about him, even though he’s not exactly right next to you anymore, feels warm to you. You see his ears start to turn red and realize that you’ve been staring. You quickly turn your attention back to the drink he’s offered as peace.

“People don’t roll in here often, especially so late at night.” The stranger pipes up. His voice flows so naturally that it flows in rhythm with that windy-thing inside you. This is it. Here. You’re excited again. Could this be the end to your journey? Will you find something here that a part of you knows you can’t find anything else? How will this unfold into what you’re looking for?

“Yeah!” you reply without any hesitation,” I’ve been traveling the country for like a year now I guess, and I just ended up here! I can’t wait to see what the town is like tomorrow.”

You can barely see that his eyebrows jump; the movement around his eyes is obscured into subtlety by his sunglasses, “Traveling? Did that once. Fun. Not much to see here though.”

“Well I guess you know better than I do since you live here. But I just love to take in a place. Even small towns have interesting people, places, and history.” You have a knack for understanding a place. Each city, town, road. Every place is different; you consider them closer to people than most people realize. You haven’t found a place you want to settle into yet though. And right now, though you’re enjoying your drink, you’re starting to become concerned with finding a place to stay. “Do you know any inn that might be open?” you tentatively ask the stranger.

He frowns, fishing in his pocket. He produces a red iphone and touches it. It lights up but he deftly slips it away into his pocket without more than a glance; “No,” he says with a hint of lament, “It’s about midnight and everything here closes early except the bar.” You sigh and stare wistfully at the wall. Another night of sleeping outside. You do this pretty often, so it doesn’t faze you, but you’d really hoped to be indoors tonight. “Look…” the stranger starts, sitting straighter. You turn to him, “I house sit for a real nice old lady, and there’s plenty of room. It’s damn clean and tidy so… so you can stay the night with me.”

You’re shocked, and gleefully so, “Won’t she mind? You didn’t even ask!”

He shakes his head, “No, not at all. Loves people, she had a huge family. Not like you have a choice anyway.”

“Ok then, thanks, uh… bro?” You can’t wait to see the house and meet this lady. Sounds like a calm rest in the middle of your grand wayward adventure.

He smirks, “Name’s Dave.”

“Well, nice to meet you Dave! I’m John.” You wonder if he’s laconic or talkative, and you hope to find out before the night is over.

He finishes his drink and removes a wad of money from his back pocket, “I’ve got you.” He says curtly, referring to your virtually untouched beer. While he counts the bills out, you take one last sip of the scotch and stand. You lift your arms above your head and stretch, content and ready to head to Dave’s abode. When you put your arms down you find that he’s looking at you.

He quickly looks down and away, “Let’s go.” And without waiting for a reply he walks towards the door, grabbing a coat from the old, rickety looking coatstand. You follow with enthusiasm, putting on your jacket and barely remembering your backpack as you slip out the door. You’re sure this is going to be good  
It doesn’t take more than 5 minutes to get to Dave’s place. He walks briskly, or maybe he just has long legs. He doesn’t talk much, so you fill the silence with idle chit-chat.

You’re wondering if it will eventually snow here when Dave stops. In a rather grandiose gesture he spreads his arms, “And here we are, Mr. John. The house of Harley; and the current resting place of one Dave Strider.” The house is beautiful. You think it’s pale yellow, although you’re not sure since it’s very late and you don’t have your glasses on. It’s too dry and cold for anything to grow very leafy, but you do see a place where some branchy plant used to grow up a trellis; whatever it was, it must be very hardy, and you admire that quality about things. The door is a deep navy blue, which you know for certain because the outside light is on and illuminates the steps and porch area, complete with small swinging bench. It’s two stories, which you know is odd for a po-dunk 2 mile wide town. The windows are all doubles and you can imagine that they open both inwards and outwards, with a thick glass that holds temperature nicely, each with a sill large enough to sit on; but you’ll have to wait until you get inside to see.

“Resting place!? Geez man you make it sound like your grave!” You reply in jest. You have to stop yourself from softly elbowing him while you make the joke. He doesn’t reply to what you’ve said, and instead starts to walk up the driveway. You follow him up to the walkway and the steps and wait patiently as he gets out his keys.

“Look John, you’ve got to be quiet. Mrs. Harley is asleep and I don’t want to wake her up. I stay upstairs, and that’s where you’ll be sleeping. There’s two extra bedrooms there and … and I’ll tell you when we get there, and I’ll show you around the house and town tomorrow, just be quiet ok?” He looks right at you, and you can tell that if he wasn’t wearing these glasses that you’d be locking eyes. He’s very serious.

“Yeah, sure man. I’ll be like a super quiet ninja or something! Master of silence!” You move your arms in what you consider to be a ninja-like gesture, and he smiles. It’s small and crooked and almost a grin, but it makes you smile too, and without any warning you’re looking at each other and smiling and you don’t want to stop. He breaks off the miniscule moment you were enjoying by opening the door.

“You’re grinning like an idiot John. Do you do that all the time? Just follow me through the house.” He steps inside and immediately turns off the porch light.

You’re lost in the dark without the light, “Dude!” you whisper, “I can’t see!”

You can hear him sigh, “All right John, just like, fucking put your hand on my shoulder and play follow the leader or some shit until your eyes adjust.” You use the sound of his voice to locate the approximate area of his shoulder, but you miss and you have to drag your fingers along his back to find it. You hold it lightly, and you feel a little awkward about it. He doesn’t seem to care because as soon as you have it he steps in. You close the door very carefully behind you, and he turns around to lock it, reaching behind your side to get it. He walks slowly, moving around objects, probably giving them a wide berth so that you don’t knock anything over in a klutzy manner. Your eyes begin to adjust and you can just make out the outline of the stairs when you reach them; they’re wide, almost grand. You almost trip over the second step, but otherwise do fine, and through your shoes you can tell that each wooden step has a small rug. You wonder if you should have taken your shoes off by the door, but Dave didn’t, so you guess it’s fine.

When you reach the top, Dave turns left and takes your hand off of his shoulder. You can pretty much see now, and he turns on three lights, “These,” he says in a low voice, opening the two doors on the left side of the hall area, “are the two bedrooms. You can choose either, but turn the light off for whichever you decide not to use.” The rooms throw light into the hallway. You peek inside. One room is primarily blue, and the other green. You decide that though the green princess canopy bed is nice, that the blue four poster bed looks way more comfortable to you, and also less girly. “This,” Dave touches the lit, unopened door across the way, “Is the main upstairs bathroom. I’ve got a smaller one in my room, so don’t worry about anyone else using it. I’ll put a fresh towel in there and also a set of clean pjs or clothes or something I guess. You can leave your laundry in there, whatever you have, and I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Wow thanks, that’s really thoughtful of you! You really don’t have to do my laundry or anything like that man.” You feel very humble, and are surprised that the guy whom you almost fought is so nice.

He shrugs, “I’m doing laundry tomorrow anyway. If you need me I’m down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks.” You say, but he’s already walking away.

You shower and put on the borrowed clothes and set your glasses by bed and fall asleep. Everything feels very nice to you, and the bed is so comfortable that you think you could sleep here forever.

You wake up in a cold sweat and it takes a minute for the night terrors to fade enough for you to see the ceiling. You’re shaking and vaguely confused about where you are and you’re afraid. The comforters are huge and you’re lost inside of them; you feel too warm and too cold and not at all okay. You stumble out of the room in the dark, neglecting to grab your glasses because there’s something that wants you dead- no- no that was just a dream. You make your way down the hallway, trying desperately to move fast but not make noise. Somewhere in your mind it clicks that you’re seeking out Dave right now, because why else would you be shambling around this strange house?

The hairs on the back of your neck raised when you weren’t paying attention. They won’t go back down. Dave never told you which room on the left was his, but there’s only two past the bathroom door. You quickly open the first and peek inside, but your caution is lost to the menagerie of instruments. You practically sprint the three steps to the door that must be Dave’s room and you try the knob. It’s unlocked. Thank god. Your chest feels tight and your heart begins to constrict and you can feel the moment of tension that comes right before you calm the fuck down and let those feelings out.

But you hadn’t thought about what would happened when you opened the door. What would you say? Would Dave even be awake? Would he kick you out for being crazy? Luckily, he’s awake. He’s sitting at a computer with one ear of a pair of headphones on. The light is out, but the monitor glow is bright enough to softly illuminate part of the room. It’s messy. You don’t mind. A messy room somehow feels like Dave Strider to you.

You step inside and close the door, and it’s louder than you wanted it to be. It gets Dave’s attention though, and he turns around. The chair squeaks a bit as it swivels, “John?” he’s frowning. You stand and try to be still, but you’re still shaking.

“I- I- uhhhhhhhh….” You try to start explaining yourself, but you have no idea what to say and as a result words don’t actually come out.

Dave deftly slips his headphones off and lays them on his desk, standing up and taking a stepping towards you, “You ok man?” he looks concerned now, and you figure that he’s probably noticed that you’re paler than fresh snow, or so you assume.

You look at him and at the ground and at your hands, and you shake your head. Words don’t work for this. You’re still only half awake and you’re still battling the dreadful feelings from waking up in midst of a vivid nightmare that seems to want to break its way out of your mind and into reality. Dave reaches out slowly, and carefully ushers you to his bed with one arm, using the other to drag one of the blankets from his floor and drape it across your lap.

He looks steadily at you, crouching on the ground to be eye level, “What happened?” At this point you are cognizant of the fact that he isn’t wearing those shades. His eyes are deep, windows if you ever did see them; and the red iris color strikes you as oddly beautiful. There are shadows and bags underneath those eyes. He’s very close to you, you’re able to see lines on his face where tears must have fallen recently. You want to trace those lines and wonder what it would feel like, your fingers breezing over his skin, but instead you sit and try to grasp reality. You briefly wonder what he was crying about, but you’re distracted by the visions that keep striking your mind as you remember bits of the nightmare. You shut your eyes as tight as possible, but the dream only seems more real, so you open them again.

His face sets, “Is someone in the house? Is there danger?” He looks grim now, and you wish you had anything to say. You shake your head no.

He sighs that sigh of relief that you want so badly, and stands up, “Damn John, you really had me scared. What’s going on bro?” With that, he plops down next to you on the bed.

You find your voice, but it’s dry, so you sound raspy, and some of your words don’t come all the way through, “I get really bad nightmares.”

-


	2. A Continuation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Dave get better acquainted and start a day out on the town.

[D.] Your newest pal has barged into your room in the middle of the night, freaking you out with silence and then proceeding to talk endlessly about his nightmares. This wouldn’t bother you, except that you’d been having nightmares too, and some of the things in your dreams seemed to be related. These night terrors (and they ARE night terrors, for sometimes you wake screaming and unable to shake them for several minutes) plagued you around the age of 13, but gradually faded into the furthest untouched reaches of your mind. Tonight was the first night in many years that they’d come back. You dreamt of death and danger and many things you hope will never come to pass.

“It was huge! This big terrifying glowing dog-headed guy! He was going to kill me! It sounds so stupid but it was really scary, can you even imagine, Dave?!” John blabbers to you, waving his arms about. He’s a hand-talker, that boy. You found this out very quickly during the walk home, during which he related a billion miscellaneous stories.

“Yeah, I can. Pretty scary shit.” He doesn’t understand that you understand. But why would you bother telling him? It’s likely a coincidence; hell, maybe it’s an environmental thing, and something in this house reminds the general populous of murderous-man-dog-bird-beasts.

John chatters on for a while and you use the sound of his voice to tune out the dreams, instead of the music you’d been listening to. Much like a song, his conversation has a steady beat, even when the tempo and intonation changes. He goes from the rapid speech of fear to the slow speech of relaxation to the snail’s pace speech of stream of consciousness. Just when you’d come very close to finding your calm again, John begins been slowing down with longer pauses, you can tell that he’s thinking of something that he doesn’t want to revisit.  
He stops talking. It’s very late and you can hear the insects outside. The silence settles between you, filling every corner of the room. He slouches, resting his arms on his knees, “Jesus Dave, I just don’t understand why this happens. It’s not the first time, honestly; though it’s been … a while. Maybe I should see a doctor or something.” He puts a laugh at the end as if he’s joking, but you can see that his hands have started shaking a little bit again.

You’re not really good at dealing with upset people. All you know to do is play it off like it’s nothing. “Nah. Freaky dreams shouldn’t send you to the loony bin. You’re fine bro, chill.” And with that, he grabs the blanket you’d offered him, curls up in it, and leans on your shoulder. You hear a few snuffles, you’re bewildered that he might be crying, you’ve seen him ecstatic and scared and if you see him sad enough to cry you’re going to assume he’s having PMS and needs some chocolate, “God John don’t cry! That’s ridiculous! I just met you today, but I’m beginning to think you’re an emotional landslide just waiting to happen!” You overemphasize every word as if you’re joking around (even though you mean every word), and he laughs half-heartedly but it ends in a sigh. You don’t understand the affection you’ve garnered for John over these few short hours. You like him a lot. He’s interesting and feels…light. Different from the heavy stuff in your life. He looks at you and you can see that he isn’t crying (what a relief), but he does seem pretty upset.

After you’d dropped off clothes and towels in the bathroom you’d gone back to your room and tried to be still, but you kept thinking about John. You kept worrying if he was ok, and wondering when he would wake up. You missed his idle prater and general excitement. He seemed like your opposite; you tried to feel very little, he tried to feel everything. You finally fell asleep fully clothed, wishing you could play your guitar. That sleep was ruined by the nightmares, so you tried to distract yourself with mixing music on your computer. You felt dull and antsy, itching to do something, but lackluster with no will to do anything. When John came in, you were relieved. And now that he’s laying his head on your shoulder, you feel a stirring in your chest. It’s sort of like a heart beating really fast. But you know it couldn’t be; there’s no doubt in your mind that you definitely don’t know John well enough to like him all that much. Even if he is handsome, sincere, nice, and any other word from a select positive list of descriptors you could use.

“I just…. Never mind. Thanks for listening Dave.” You don’t hear any more sniffles. On impulse you drape your arm around John. You can feel him breathe out and let go of his posture. He settles into you, and you think you could get used to that.

“No problem, bro. No problem.” This time there’s no joke in your voice and you’re very sincere. He doesn’t reply right away, but after a few moments of silence he starts telling you about different aspects of his life. You listen dutifully, not quite sure why John is telling you all these things; some of them seem frivolous and some of them seem of vast importance and you can’t really discern the difference between the two because why would he tell you either? You remember how much he talked on the way home and think that maybe he just hates silence. You reply very little and eventually he goes quiet. Pretty soon you hear slight snoring. You’re somewhere between flattered and aggravated that John’s fallen asleep while using you as his personal shoulder or something. You can’t bear to wake him up though. So you sit there mulling about what to do, but you’re falling asleep before you know it.

You wake up briefly in the early morning, the sun is rising, but night is still lingering in the sky. The fog of sleep rolls over your mind, as you roll over to your left side. You’re not at all surprised to see John in your bed; which will surprise you when you wake up again. But instead of thinking, you pull some covers from that loudly snoring sheet hog, put your arm in its correct spot (around him), mutter something about being cold (a lie), and drift back into sleep (contented).

It’s around ten when you wake up. You sit up and mentally prepare yourself for another day of whatever it is you’ve been doing, before remembering John. You have no idea where he went or when he left your room. You jump out of bed, noticing that he tried to make his side. You don’t bother changing, and race to the hallway. The smell of food hits you like a train, you’re so hungry. You journey very quickly to the kitchen and are not prepared for the sight before you.

Old Mrs. Harley is sitting at the table happily, dressed in the brightest, most mismatching colors you’ve ever seen. Her dentures sit on a napkin and there’s full place setting for three people. It seems as though John has been busy. He’s wearing the manliest apron from the pantry, (which is to say, white with blue embroidery and frills), and working hard at the stove.

“Mrs. Harley,-“ you start, but she shooshes you and pats your arm lightly.

“Not to worry dear. I know I’m up early, but this young lad John was so nice! He helped me get dressed and cleaned my dentures and everything! And now he’s cooking me breakfast! Reminds me of my late brother, he does. But with less chip on his shoulder!” Mrs. Harley seems very happy; she speaks with a slight lisp due to her lack of teeth.

“John?” you ask, awaiting an explanation.

He turns to you with a sizzling pan and a spatula, “Well I couldn’t sleep anymore! I just came downstairs to find something to eat, but I accidentally knocked over a vase. It’s fine! Really! I picked it back up. But I kinda, uh, yelled when I knocked it over, and that woke Nana up. So…yeah.” He grins apologetically, returning to the stove.

“Nana?” You aren’t in the mood for eloquence today.

“Yeah!” John pipes up, “We get along so great! She reminds me of my granny; so I’m calling her Nana!”

Mrs. Harley seems pleased with this and she smiles wide (which is an odd sight without her dentures), “Hoo Hoo!” she laughs, balling up her napkin and throwing at John. It hits him square in the back.

“Haha! Hey Nana stop that you jokester!” You roll your eyes. John is such a dork. You ignore the fact that you find it endearing.

You move to the stove and look over John’s shoulder, you weren’t prepared for this either. “Oh god John, what IS that?!” The mixture in the pan must have been groceries, you knew. But now it was a lump of mush that you really couldn’t feed to Nana; or anyone, really. It was starting to burn on the bottom but else wise was moist and really just looked grotesque.

John frowns, looking hurt, “I tried my best! I really only learned how to bake from my dad! Gosh you don’t have to be so mean!”

“Fine then, make a cake or something, little miss 50’s housewife. Just move over and let me make something edible.” You grab what you need from the fridge and the pantry, throwing out John’s terrible experiment gone wrong breakfast as fast as you can. He sits down at the table with a ‘humph!’

“Why John, are those Dave’s pajamas? I got them for him when it started getting cold, but he never wears them!” Luckily, John seems to have an elastic personality, he snaps right back into his chipper state.

“I guess so Nana, glad I could use them then!” He replies, elbowing her and chuckling as if he’d just told some great joke. You’re busy slaving away over the stove, you actually enjoy cooking, but you pull out some extra stops today. Normally you eat the cheapest cereal that you can find for breakfast, you find no point in cooking for both you and Mrs. Harley, and she primarily eats softer foods. Today you cook for yourself though, because John is here, and it’s rude to feed guests the cheapest cereal you can find.

“They look so nice on you! Don’t you think so, Dave?” she asks, the way grandmothers will.

“I guess…” you reply as neutral as possible. He does look cute in your pajamas though, and acknowledging it mentally makes you blush. You’re glad you’re cooking, and hope that no one else notices, “John, you wear glasses?” You’d noticed the rectangular frames on his face, but they hadn’t registered until now.

John seems taken aback, as if he hadn’t known he wore glasses either, until you pointed it out; “Yeah! Pretty much always have.” The food sizzles and the warmth coming from the stove is nice. You don’t really like the cold, and honestly you wish you’d put on a sweater before coming downstairs. Mrs. Harley and John continue to talk whilst you cook. You let your intuition take care of the food and your mind idly wanders over many different subjects, drifting here and there. You begin to feel calm. The feeling of letting your hands and skills cook while you enjoy the experience is refreshing. Normally you make the same set of foods weekly, and now it’s just routine. Here you’re creating something. It reminds you of when you used to create things all the time. You had many hobbies. You played various instruments, mixed various musics, drew various comics, took various photographs, and wrote various movies. All of these fed into one another and often you were a flurry of newness and passion and everyone said (when they thought you couldn’t hear), “That boy. He’s so bright. He’s going to be famous.”

But when you had to stop moving you began to consider yourself a jack of all trades; master of none. You don’t do much creating anymore. Sometimes you mix to distract yourself, but mostly, all is quiet on any sort of front. You deftly plate the meals, with a bit of an artisan touch, and put the plates on the table. Nana and John compliment you, which you accept with a nod. You like to consider yourself stoic, but honestly you either have too much to say or nothing to say at all. You begin to eat, tuning in and out of the conversation Nana is having with John.

When everyone is finished you pick up the plates and begin to wash them. John kicks back in his chair, leaning it on its back legs. Nana pops her dentures in and John watches intently, claiming that he likes to learn as much as he can and that he’s never seen anyone put their dentures in before. You snicker when he almost falls over in his chair because he wasn’t paying attention. He puts the chair at rest, sticking his tongue out at you, but proceeds to continue talking to Nana. You’re almost jealous at how well they get along. But also, you’re relieved, because you were slightly worried that she wouldn’t like him and hence would be mad at you for letting him stay.

“Dave, John says you’re going to take him about town today. That sounds so exciting! Where do you think you’ll take him?” Nana asks. You know she wants to give you her opinion, and you’ll gladly take it. You don’t know much about the town despite having been here for a while. But if John wants to know about the place, even if it seems boring to you, you’ll show him about.

“Yeah, I plan to, but I don’t know exactly what to show him.” You reply, finishing the dishes.

“Hoo Hoo! I knew it! Well, let me tell you boys, you’ll have such a grand day!” she turns to John, looking very enthusiastic, “This town is pretty small! You can walk the whole thing without your feet hurting, and that’s real nice. There’s a farmers market every Sunday, and if you stay long enough you should go to that! Lots a nice local people sell their goods there, and it’s the best place to get food. There’s a general store that offers groceries the rest of the week, but it’s cute and a little old fashioned. The man who runs it used to be best friends with one of my little boys! We also have a spinner, she makes the sweaters and such that most people around here wear. Soft as can be and very warm! Made from the wool of her own sheep too!” Nana (When did you start calling her that? John must be rubbing off on you…) goes on much longer than you ever could have thought, and ends up mentioning the old historic house, the café and bakery, and the apothecary in addition to the General Store and the spinner.

“That all sounds really fun!” John exclaims when she finishes, “Dave can we do all that stuff today!?” He looks excited, and you can’t fathom why. Regardless, his enthusiasm makes you feel almost…happy.

“Before we do anything I have to change and start the laundry. And you might want to change too, unless you plan on going out in that apron…”

-

The air was chilly and dry with a bit of a snip. It was the kind of weather that you usually avoided, and from John’s upright and open posture, you could assume it was the kind of weather he enjoyed thoroughly.

Leaving the Harley residence had been somewhat of a to-do which really ground your nerves. You and John seemed to have conflicting habits. You felt his clothes should all be washed. He felt he could wear everything at least twice more. He wanted to make his bed and tidy his room (implying that you should do the same). You thought it didn’t matter if the rooms were messy and your room had always been unkempt.

After much heckling back and forth, you eventually had to compromise. He tidied up while you washed all the clothes. At first John was hesitant to borrow from your scarce wardrobe, but you cajoled him into it so that you only had to do one load of laundry. He was easy to convince, you just used a smattering of ‘bro’s and made him laugh a few times. Once he was dressed though, he didn’t seem to care at all. He tested the weather but refused to wear anything more than a t-shirt and jeans, completely denying the jacket you’d offered. You grabbed the jacket, a thin hoodie, and a beanie in addition to your long sleeved shirt and jeans because no Strider freezes to death willingly.

“So where are we headed?” John inquires.

“You heard the old lady. We’re going to peruse the shit outta this town like damn courageous spelunkers in dank caves so I hope you brought your headlight and ropes because if we get lost in this empty country expanse we’re going to need ‘em.”

“I didn’t! Maybe we can buy some around here?” he humors you.

“Nah, but I guess we can check by the general store first anyway.” You shrug. You’re starting to acclimate to the weather (usually you stay inside and keep to yourself).

John breathes deeply and enjoys the scenery. The houses are all very pretty and somewhat quaint (a point of contention between you and the town, you’re a true city kid so the large immaculate yards and wide empty roads make you feel exposed).

He gives you his running commentary and you reply. Pretty soon the conversation flows naturally, John laughs at your long winded responses to anything that tickles your fancy and gives you spiels of his own in return. His are shorter and you find his sense of humor somewhat more direct than yours, but it’s complementary.

Whenever you proclaim to be cool or ironic he rolls his eyes, but he walks fairly close to you and doesn’t stop grinning so you figure he genuinely likes you (or at least is a naturally friendly individual). Sometimes the conversation pauses and the silence falls heavy. John will look up at the sky or just anywhere away from you and a tiny frown will briefly cover his smile. You suspect that it has to do with the night terrors, but you’re not sure. You don’t ask because if it isn’t the nightmares, you don’t want to remind him. You both sort of silently agree to take turns jumpstarting the conversation when it sputters and it always returns to being lively.

-

[J.] You’re really starting to like Dave. Sure, you liked him well enough last night when he took you in and took care of you; but he was still just a kind stranger. Now you’re getting to know him, and it’s intoxicating to you. You love meeting new people and learning how to understand them. To you, strangers really are just friends you haven’t met yet.

Dave has an interesting personality and always has something to say (even if no one is listening). He makes for a good conversation partner until he gets off on tangents, but even then you find his brand of humor riotously funny. You laugh so hard that you run out of breath more than once. He laughs at you too, or you know he wants to, because he chuckles quietly and gives you lots of sly smiles as if your jokes are secrets to be shared only between you two.

You think he’d really laugh without holding back if you were alone. Then, you’d be able to pull hilarious hijinks, which you knew for certain would make him holler with laughter. But even if you did do something belly-laugh-worthy out here, you felt like Dave probably wouldn’t really laugh. The second you stepped outside the air about Dave changed into something much more calculated and reserved. He drew into himself more than the cold called for, and his face became much less expressive (the aviators really helped that though). But to each his own, so you don’t bother to say anything about it.

When you reach the general store (aptly named The General Store), you find that you’re actually kind of excited. It’s a building made of brown wood, unlike the bar you wandered into last night, with a similarly shingled roof. The front is almost entirely windows and the scrawling letters are clearly hand painted on. In the lower corner of one of the windows you see what you’re pretty sure is a family scene drawn by some very young children. You’re pretty sure, anyway. It’s a lot of shaky, colorful scribbles.

Walking in, you’re not surprised by what you see (the front was windowed). There were shelves upon shelves, some barrels and crates and stands here and there, a furnace in the middle of the large room warming the place pleasantly.

“Can I help ya with something?” the man behind the counter is asking as you make your way to the shelves.

“No thanks, I’m just browsing.” You return with a small wave.

“Well if ya need anything let me know. You must be new to town but I’m sure Dave is showin’ ya the ropes.” He goes back to examining a pair of wax candy lips. He’s small and looks absolutely ridiculous when he finally puts the comically huge red mouth onto his petite face.  
You find a wide selection of seemingly miscellaneous items. Medicine, candy, household cleaners, tools, a rack of old romance novels, and more. And in the back corner, you find something particularly interesting.

A box of magic tricks and a box of pranks, nestled behind and between newer board games.

“Dave. DAVE.” You pick up the two boxes, only just able to hold each in a hand.

“What?” he pokes his head around the corner. He’s got a full wicker basket from by the door as he’s decided to actually shop.

“I need these!” You greedily return your eyes to the boxes.

He raises his eyebrows, seemingly truly surprised, “Didn’t know you were into that stuff dude.” You feel particularly nostalgic as you continue to look at the bulky boxes barely in your grip, “Didn’t figure you’d be at age 5-10 skill level if you were. Shouldn’t you be further along than that?”

You scrunch your nose but can’t think of a good retort, “Gosh Dave, you’re SO funny and cool and ironic!” you snap instead; he doesn’t reply. “Anyway, I’m way more skilled than these kits, obviously, but these are just like the ones I had as a kid! How can I pass this up? I haven’t seen these in years!”

“Well I’m not exactly stopping you from buying them. That job is best left to your conscience. I have everything I need anyway so let’s get going. I assume you’ve seen enough of this place’s so called inherent charm.”

You both proceed to the counter to check out, on the way you stop by a bargain bin and pick up ‘Drive Angry’ for just $3! What a steal! Dave actually grimaces when you hold it up for his approval, but he begrudgingly admits that he hasn’t seen it. Apparently he either hates Nicholas Cage or choice cinema as a whole, you’re not sure which (it may be both?).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to continue working on this because Tumblr user Totesumi has asked me to!  
> This would NOT be possible without my lovely beta PragmaticKatharsis!!  
> (They are both very nice people and if you get the chance you should check out their blogs n stuff. This took a very long time because I had 2 Beta's cancel on me and a very bad writer's block.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You may also find this on my Tumblr: SoleilVioleta (Bits And Pieces: A Life of Words And Pictures) Here it's uploaded neatly chapter by chapter, but on my tumblr it's posted every 5-7 pages i write, and each 5-7 pages (depending on how much I write at any given time) is a 'part'. So, there may be more updates on my tumblr. But messier updates to be sure.


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